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Honolulu Lite Charles Memminger |
You must think like
a rat to catch oneA pacifist is someone who doesn't have a rat living inside their house.
I was a pacifist up until about a month ago. I wouldn't hurt a fly. I'd kill a fly but wouldn't hurt a fly, mainly because in order to hurt one, you have to catch it, sort of pin it down and poke it with a small stick or something. But you can still be a pacifist and kill flies. And ants and roaches and just about anything along the insect line. Killing bugs is OK.
I haven't killed any living thing larger than a baseball since high school, when I shot a mongoose in the hip with a pellet pistol. It was a sad affair all around, but mostly for the mongoose. It took a couple more shots to finish him off, made more difficult by aiming through, not to mention, at, tears. It's tough to kill a crying rodent, even a foot-long one.
But another rodent has come into my life and has pushed me to the point of varmint-cide. It's a rat that has managed to get into the house. It's been so hot and dry that apparently there's not much to eat outside, so he decided to come indoors. He was living off a raw potato in the tuber/onion basket for a while. That's how we knew he was around. We put away everything we figured a rat could construe as food and thought he'd given up and decamped.
Then I noticed that a dried-out ear of decorative Thanksgiving corn had been chewed on, and realized he was still with us. We got rid of the corn, which was too bad, since it had been sitting out for almost a year and was just about in season again. Then the rat found some decorative dried wheat from the same holiday epoch and lived on that for a while. After we 86'd that (I'm trying to remember if we have any autumn 2002 gourds someplace I've forgotten about), he chewed a hole in the dog food bag and began chowing down on kibble.
Gradually, my pacifism began to evaporate. I've sort of turned into the demented Bill Murray character from the movie "Caddyshack," putting snap traps and sticky traps all over the place baited with peanut butter and dog food and cheese and crackers and thimblefuls of an amusing white wine. As Bill Murray would say, "Come on, little varmint ... there's nothing to be worried about ... it's just a little smorgasbord ... hehehe ... a smorgasbord of varmint death!"
The rat hasn't fallen for any of it, and, like Murray, I'm beginning to think that some strategically placed small explosive charges might answer. I'm not that far gone yet, but something has to be done. The little blighter is eating us out of house, home and holiday ornaments.
I'm trying really hard to be a nonviolent, peaceful guy, but I wonder how long it will be before I dig out my pellet pistol and begin night patrols through the house with a flashlight duct-taped to my head. It's OK, little varmint. Pay no attention to the man in the camouflaged underwear ... hehehehe.
(To Be Continued.)
See the Columnists section for some past articles.
Charles Memminger, winner of National Society of Newspaper Columnists awards, appears Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. E-mail cmemminger@starbulletin.com
